You Were Always My King
by Infinityscripts
Summary: Dwalin was strong. At least he thought himself to be. That all changes when he finds Thorin Oakenshield lying broken on the ice, and a certain burglar sobbing beside him. WARNING: Will give you ALL the feels. A companion to my piece "Not About Angels."


Perhaps I should have been surprised upon finding Thorin out on the ice, guts ripped open and blood everywhere. I should have been in hysterics, calling out to the nearest medic to get him back on his feet and trying my best to wake him from his obvious death. I should have been like Balin, leaning over his cold body and weeping, asking him what had happened even though I knew he wouldn't answer.

But I wasn't.

I had been the first dwarf to find him, cold and lifeless on the ice. Bilbo was sobbing at his side and shaking like a frostbitten child, all the while mumbling something about the eagles. I swallowed hard as I approached the scene. Thorin's eyes were the same distant sky blue as always, but they were not moving. They were fixed somewhere right above my head. His chest wasn't heaving up and down, and blood poured out from the tears in his clothes and a cut across his face.

I'd been in battle a few too many times, and I'd seen people die. I had watched as my brothers, friends and fellow soldiers were killed off by the hundreds, left crumbled on the ground like toy soldiers on a general's strategy board. But this time I couldn't just bite my tongue and move on. I couldn't just punch something or spit on an orc corpse, because Thorin wasn't just a friend. He wasn't just someone I'd met in the armory or someone who I ran into once in a while.

I had grown up with Thorin, had been there for every one of his trials and hardships. I had watched his world crumble when his grandfather and brother died in the battle for Moria, and when his father went missing. I watched him turn his rage and misfortune into determination to help his people. I had watched as time and time again, he failed and got back on his feet. Some failures were worse than others. Sometimes I'd find him alone in the woods, punching a tree until his knuckles were bleeding and he collapsed from exhaustion.

I had also seen him at his good times. I saw him when Fili was born, and later Kili. I saw him when he finally found a place for our people to call home in the Blue Mountains, and when he received promising word of his father's whereabouts. I saw him when we finally reached the hidden door, and I watched as he entered Erebor, nostalgia and determination evident in his cracked voice.

We had sparred together in our younger years, had been raised together as cousins should be. We'd laughed together and- although I would never admit it- cried together. We had lost everything and rebuilt everything by each other's side. He was Thorin Oakenshield and I was Dwalin, Son of Fundin. We were brothers.

No longer.

"Bilbo," I said- my usually heavy tone was now quiet and frayed, like an old piece of parchment that had been crumbled several times. The hobbit looked up at me, tears in his eyes.

Silence overtook us as he simply stared at me, a look of helplessness and overwhelming despair on his dirty face. One of his hands was on the back of Thorin's head, the other covering his mouth.

"What happened?" I asked softly. I knew how menacing I could be, and just how afraid of me most people were on any given day, but I didn't want to hurt him anymore than he had already been.

The hobbit raised a weak finger to point at somewhere behind me, and I turned to see the corpse of Azog out on the ice, Orcrist going clean through his chest.

"So Thorin finally defeated his mortal enemy." I said, ignoring how ironic those words tasted in my mouth.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said shakily, "I couldn't save him. I got out here and he was on the ground and there was just… blood…"

I took a step forward, but the hobbit didn't flinch like he usually did when I approached. He only stared down at the blank face of my friend, sniffing loudly and clearing his throat.

"He died nobly," I said, "I'm sure of it."

"Yes," Bilbo murmured, his voice cracked. "Yes he did."

"Did he say anything?" I asked, and Bilbo paused, looking up at me for the longest time with his reddened eyes. Finally, he shook his head and let out something similar to a laugh, and then proceeded to cover his eyes as he fell into another bout of sobbing.

I came to his side and put a hand on his shoulder, looking down at the face of my friend.

He'd gone insane. I had watched him change over the course of a few days, had watched as his eyes morphed from their honorable and strong light to a remote and foggy look. His words grew harsher by the hour, his thoughts drawing farther and farther from us and closer to his gold. I held my tongue until the last second. Why? Perhaps because I trusted him enough to snap out of it sooner than later. I held on to the hope that the old Thorin, our Thorin was still in there. I could see it once in a while, in the way he looked at Fili and Kili mostly. But soon that look changed, as well as every other aspect of him. As he lost himself in his gold, and as he fell to the same weakness as his grandfather, I didn't say a word. Because I trusted him to come back to us. I trusted his actions and I trusted his words, even if I knew they were false.

"I-" Bilbo got to his feet, moving out from the hand that I had placed on his shoulder. "I need to go."

I didn't say anything as he left, bounding up the staircase to who knows where. I just kept looking at Thorin's lifeless face, at his bloodied teeth and glassed over eyes. My heart seemed to wrench in my chest as I went to my knees, finally breaking.

"Why did you do it Thorin?" I asked softly. "Fili and Kili and now you? Did you think we'd manage? That we would be alright without our king?"

Of course he didn't answer, even though that was the only thing I wanted in those moments. A simple reassuring smile would have done, or even just an affirming word or two. But no- he was gone. Undoubtedly so.

'Sure as death' was a comment I used frequently, something I had picked up from my father when I was younger. Only now did the full meaning of that statement reach me.

_I am your king!_ He had bellowed at me earlier that morning, and for the first time since he had left his mind I did not doubt what to say to him.

_You were always my king. You used to know that once._

I felt a tear leave my eye, and then another. It was not fair- none of it. He had finally reached his goal, accomplished the one thing he'd been working for his entire life. He had come back to us, had returned to his whole ways and I was confident in his decisions. Why now of all times? Why when we were so close?

I reached out and gently dragged my fingers over his eyelids, closing them over that blank stare that I was sure would haunt me for years to come.

I had watched Fili die, and had heard the news of Kili on my way to find Bilbo, who I had seen knocked unconscious by Bolg. In those moments I didn't have time to grieve. But now as I kneeled down next to Thorin, feeling the snow soak through the knees of my trousers and watching as it caught in his beard and hair, mingling with the maroon blood that soaked them, I let everything free like a collapsing dam.

What would Balin say? What would Dis say? What would the entirety of our people say? There'd be a massive funeral, and the feasting and song would go on for days. I'd probably drown myself in ale, as would most of the company. Bilbo would go home with a little bit of gold, but I doubted he'd soon forget the sight of Thorin dead on the ice. He was too little, too innocent and too kind to witness such tragedy.

I choked a bit as a sob rushed out of my throat, and put my head in my hands so I no longer had to look at Thorin's lifeless form.

We were friends, brothers, comrades. I was supposed to be at his side forever, as he would be at mine. He was my king.

Balin came later, as did the rest of the company. I managed to compose myself well enough to stand away from Thorin's body and move instead to the cliff side, watching the broken armies of orcs and dwarves move about the bloodied field, finishing the last of each other off.

I could hear my brother saying something behind me, but I didn't listen. I couldn't. I could only focus on my breathing, the blood pounding in my ears and the swelling of my heart in my chest.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way," I heard someone say, and I couldn't agree more.

/

**So this is just another attempt of trying to rid myself of these BotFA feels, although I doubt I ever will. I feel like Dwalin's and Thorin's friendship was hinted at several times in the movies, and couldn't help but imagine his reaction to his friend's death. I also got the entire idea for this from the ingenious line:**

**"You were always my king. You used to know that once."**

**Graham Mctavish spared me no mercy in his acting… I suppose this could be a companion piece to "Not About Angels," another one shot I wrote describing Fili's thoughts in his last moments. I wrote this to the theme played during Gandalf's death scene in The Fellowship of the Ring, because that song always gets me in the mood to write some cruel angst. **

**Before anyone says anything, the reason I had Bilbo not respond when Dwalin asked, "Did he say anything?" was because I just felt like that was in character for him. That, and I doubt I could ever put into words just how Bilbo would describe Thorin, other than "He was my friend."**

**Tell me what you think, and thanks for reading!**

**-Infinityscripts**


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